Thinking
by hoechlins-hats
Summary: Stiles starts feeling the pressure, and starts caving to it. He learns that he's really good at causing problems, but not everybody sees it that way.
1. Waking

He's having one of those dreams again. He knows it's a dream because hell if he'll ever actually be with Derek like this. Feeling the way their bodies fit together – a little awkward and a bit crooked, but so stupidly perfect. He's feeling Derek's hands gliding over his skin and leaving a burning trail in their wake. Stiles moans, can't help it, when Derek slides a hand into his boxers and just ghosts his fingers ov—

Stiles shouts and jerks awake to the sound of his phone ringing. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, trying not to think of his ridiculous hard on as he scrambles off the bed to grab his phone. "Hello?"

"Stiles, we're going to a party, get dressed. I'm riding my bike to your place."

"Scott, it's eleven o'clock."

"Yeah, I _know_, just hurry up." He hangs up before Stiles can argue. He's sufficiently softened by the time the conversation is over, simply because Scott's voice is really enough to kill a boner. It's not an offense to Scott, but honestly the last thing Stiles wants to hear when he's horny is the voice of his best friend. But he gets dressed and makes himself presentable and goes down the steps just when he hears a knock at his door. He opens it expecting Scott, but instead is greeted by the alpha that was so kindly about to jerk him off in his sleep.

"So you're coming too?" He says, his voice cracking a bit from nervousness when he sees the way Derek's eyes briefly flash red. Stiles gulps a bit. "I guess so." He feels like Derek's about to punch him or bite him or something when Scott thankfully saves the day and half leaps off his bike on to Stiles' porch. "So what the hell is this about, Scott?"

"That thing that was chasing us? Allison saw its face just as it changed. She recognized it as somebody from school, so we're going to go to this party and try to track it down."

"Scott, I don't know if anybody else has told you this, but you are really freaking stupid."

Turns out somebody had told Scott, but that never stopped him from continuing to be stupid. So now Stiles is being awkward and trying not to let people touch him while he weaves through this giant crowd to try and find Scott. Or Derek. Preferably Scott because Stiles hasn't forgotten the way Derek looked like he wanted to kill him earlier. But he's kind of lost because you know he's not the tallest kid in the room and he can't seem to see anything but people he doesn't know. Suddenly he feels a tug on the back of his shirt. He turns around as best he can and sees Derek behind him. The alpha jerks his head toward the front door and starts walking, doesn't give Stiles the chance to respond. Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes and follows.

They get outside and Derek keeps going. "What is it?" Stiles asks as Derek slips easily down the steps. They go around the side of the house and start towards the woods. "Derek! What a—" He's cut off as he feels something run past him. He shouts and turns in time to see Scott sprinting after it. "_Shit_," he mutters and starts running as well, because Derek's already gone and hell if he's standing around here like a fool.

He breaks through the edge of the trees and can barely still make out their forms running. He thanks god that Scott is wearing white shirt, so he's sort of easy to see when it comes down to it. Stiles feels his foot slick across something and he shouts and almost stumbles to the ground. He catches himself on a tree and curses. He lifts up his foot to see what he stepped in and is greeted by a glint of deep red in the moonlight. His stomach flips. Of course he would slip in blood while they're chasing down some monster. Of freaking course. He wipes it on some leaves and takes off running again.

The only reason he manages to catch up to them is because they've stopped. He slows to a walk and watches as Scott runs a hand through his hair and looks at the ground where the trail of blood ends. Derek stands behind him and his nostrils flare. Whatever this thing is needs to be stopped, and quickly. But Stiles has an idea. They all know Derek didn't turn another wolf, and it's not Jackson, but he could've…

"Can the bitten ones… bite other people and turn them? Like, is that a thing?" Stiles pipes up. Both wolves turn to look at him, Scott with unmasked confusion and Derek with subdued rage. Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs a bit wildly. "I uh right. Yeah, shutting up. Bad guy catching, let's go." He laughs nervously and scuffs his feet. The two turn back away from him, talking in hushed voices. Stiles turns his back to them in a brief bout of childish frustration. He swears he sees a pair of glowing cobalt eyes in the darkness of the woods. "Uh, guys?" They're talking too much to hear him. "Guys!" The blue eyes vanish and he huffs and flops his arms down to his sides. "Shi- nevermind."

"What'd you say, Stiles?" Scott says, suddenly behind him.

He throws his hands up. "Nothing!" Scott raises a brow, but lets it go.

"No sense in hanging around here. Let's go." Derek says roughly and pushes past them both.

Stiles stomach growls. They've been out since right after school and it's nearing midnight. If they want to ignore him, then damn it, he's going to have his way. He's hungry as _hell_ and he's the one driving.

So they're sitting in the In 'n' Out burger and Stiles is shoving french fries into his mouth like there's no tomorrow. Scott's sitting next to him, staring at his phone.

"You know what?" Stiles starts, jabbing a fry at Derek, who sits across from him with his arms crossed and a full glass of water in front of him. "I don't think I've ever seen you eat. Do you eat like deer or something? Use the bones for wind chimes? Smoke some venison for later?" He grins at his own joke, then stops chewing as he watches Derek purposefully and slowly reach over the table, grab Stiles' burger and take a large bite of it. He sets it down and Stiles swallows. The corners of his mouth twitch a bit in nervousness as he watches Derek chew. And Derek watches him watching him chew. Well he's sort of glaring, more or less. But that's really just his face. And suddenly Stiles gets lightheaded.

"Right, well I'm full let's go back to camp." He stands up and grabs his trash (being a bag full of curly fries and half of a burger). He doesn't make it to the trashcan, though. His eyes kind of swivel back into his head and he's splayed on the floor just as he stands up.

The first time he wakes up and remembers it, he sees rusted metal rafters and broken lights. His head is in someone's lap, but he can't tell who and he can't turn his head to look. He recognizes the feeling really well. He closes his eyes again, hoping he'll wake up in bed and this will all have been a fucked up nightmare.

"Did you really like me better when I had blue eyes?" He feels the vibration of the low voice on his sternum. Knows who it is the second he opens his mouth. Stiles doesn't respond. Hopes Derek will think he's still asleep. He knows it doesn't work, but the alpha doesn't speak anymore. Eventually Stiles drops off to sleep.

He wakes up to the sound of crashing outside of the subway car. Stiles shouts and jerks up, only to feel his head swirl and his heart constrict in his chest. "What the…" He starts, but his voice drops off as he get woozy and falls back. Instead of smacking his head on the metal floor, he lands on thighs. Really muscular thighs. Which in retrospect isn't much better than landing on a metal floor. He looks up at Derek, who's cradling his head now and then turning it to the side. "What the hell are you doing?"

Derek turns his head back so Stiles is looking up and just kind of stares at him.

"What happened?"

Derek stares.

"It felt like I'd been paralyzed… Like when Jacks— when I touched the kanima's poison."

Derek keeps staring.

"What!"

"Derek, do you understand anything he's saying?" Derek looks up at the voice in the doorway then back to Stiles, shaking his head. Stiles freezes, eyes wide. "But he can understand us?" Derek nods. Stiles tries to sit up again but Derek stops him.

"Stiles, don't. Just stay." He says, putting a hand on the teen's chest.

"Shouldn't we get him to a hospital? He's not like us, and things like that are usually a lot more brain centered than supernatural." Stiles places the voice as Erica's.

Derek shakes his head. "If that kind of thing were happening, he'd know it too. He didn't even notice anything was wrong until you said something." He's looking right at Stiles now, searching his face for something. "Sleep, Stiles." So he sleeps.

He hears Scott and Derek arguing outside the subway car. He's lying on his side and his head is comfortably propped up on a pillow.

"This isn't your fault, Scott."

"Yes it is!"

"You can't protect everybody all of the time."

"He's my best friend, Derek."

"He can take care of himself."

"But he's not like that! He's not like us. This thing went after him on purpose. It knew how he would react this way!"

Stiles scoffs and rolls his eyes. He flops on to his back and stares at the ceiling and sighs. _Sure, Scott. It really knew that. Maybe it just went after me because I was a convenient target. And oh jesus, why would it think that, maybe because you both had your backs to me and were freaking ignoring me_. Stiles tries not to hold grudges, like, really he does try not to. But he's mad at Scott and he thinks he's allowed to be.

"You can't help him Scott. None of us can until we figure out what that creature is. We know it's _not_ a wolf. That's a start."

"Yeah, a really small one."

Stiles hears a thud and scraping metal. He mentally pouts. _Wallslamming is my thing._

"Listen to me, Scott. We can't do anything about this. Go home."

"What about Stiles?"

"Keep him here. I— _We_ will take care of him. Go."

Stiles hears Scott growl and shove Derek away. He hears the retreating footsteps. He hears the soft sure steps of Derek coming up the stairs into the subway car. He hears an overwhelming rush of wind. He hears nothing.

The next time he wakes up, he knows he's alone. He sits up and looks around the car. It's dim, but he can tell it's not night. He doesn't know how he knows, he just does. He's glad nobody is here to tell him to lay down. He reaches up and grips the half destructed seat and pulls himself up. His head swirls, but he swears he's okay this time. He stumbles to the door and takes a step down. Stiles doesn't realize that the step down is further than he expected. He thinks that his foot contacts the concrete, but really it's just air. So he jerks and freaks out his other foot catches on the half closed door. He reaches to catch himself and slices a gash down his forearm. His blood is black. Stiles likes to think he's pretty masculine, but the sound that comes out of his mouth is anything but. He kind of collapses on the ground outside of the subway car and clutches his wrist and screams like all hell.

It's Isaac that finds him first, but Stiles can't even be embarrassed. When the beta sees him, his already huge eyes widen. For a second he doesn't open his mouth or even move. Stiles shouts at him some gibberish that he doesn't understand, but Isaac seems to get the picture.

"Derek!" He shouts, finally scrambling down to Stiles' level and grabbing his arm from him. Stiles kicks his legs and his voice goes hoarse. He thinks there might be tears staining his face, but he doesn't cry. Like, ever. The alpha comes running, shirtless and sweaty, and if Stiles wasn't writhing in pain he might have actually enjoyed the sight. Derek practically falls in front of them both. He barks orders at Isaac and takes Stiles' arm and squeezes it.

Stiles is reminded of when Erica had a seizure in the library. How he held her while Derek did this to her. For a moment, Stiles is watching the scene from above them. He can't handle this kind of thing. He swears he's never heard anybody scream this loud and he swears five times more that it's not him making those noises. And then he's back in his body, staring down at his arm. It's still bleeding, but it's red. It's red and that's all he really cares about. Stiles is now aware that he's drenched in sweat and his chest is heaving. He can only imagine how loud his heart is beating in Derek's ears. He looks up at the alpha, gasping for breath and even groaning a little. Derek's face is intense and pale and concentrated. He looks like he's done something wrong.

"Derek," he slurs. Said wolf exhales what seems to be a sigh of relief. "What, can you understand me now?" Derek nods. He has both hands wrapped around Stiles' forearm, applying pressure to try and cut off the flow of blood. Isaac and Erica come running back with what looks like a first aid kit and Stiles just kind of looks at them. He doesn't care how much of a wreck he is right now, he's just really aware of Derek's eyes on his face. He'd blush if there was enough blood in his body to do so. "You know that's good you think it might be time for me to go to a hospital because I'm feeling like that's a pretty good idea right about now 'cause I'm starting to not feel my feet or my fingers actually but that might have something to do with the fact that grumpy wolf here is cutting off the circulation to my entire life and I really think that flesh is kind of a good color on you." He reaches a hand up weakly and jabs it at Derek's chest. He thinks it makes contact with the toned muscles, but it really doesn't. His head lolls a bit and his hand drops into his lap. He's vaguely aware of the way Erica and Isaac exchange looks, but then Derek shouts something and they scramble to get him what he needs to take care of Stiles. He's also vaguely aware of the fact that there's a fucking needle in Derek's hand and he's threading it. He's out cold before he even feels the needle pierce his skin.

"What did you do to him!" Scott's voice jars him awake. Stiles is propped up in a corner with some blankets. The first thing he's aware of is the fact that he hasn't seen his dad in a while and he's not quite sure how long he's really been here.

"He fell," Derek grates it out. Stiles can tell his teeth are clenched. Why would he be angry? Right, because Stiles really fucked this up. The car rocks a bit as Scott pushes past Derek and jumps on to the car. The alpha follows close behind.

"Allison thinks she found something. I need to know how you got poisoned. Or… Whatever."

Stiles just kind of stares at him. He's feeling like a pile of shit quite honestly and couldn't care less about what Allison thinks she found. Plus, he can't really open his mouth, but he tries. "Dude, I saw the thing in the woods. And then we got food."

"Wait, wait," Derek hisses. "You saw it?" Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I tried to tell you guys that it was staring at me."

"Stiles, did you see it, or was it _watching you_?" Derek's intensity makes him want to cringe and flinch away from him. But he's just too damn tired.

He closes his eyes. "I turned around. And I saw its eyes. I tried to get you guys to notice, but you were too busy talking, and th—"

Scott and Derek started talking in hushed tones, their eyes both on the floor.

"Much like you are now," Stiles' blood boils a bit. He shoves off the blanket and stands up. They don't notice. "Look, I don't know what this means to you guys, and that's just fine, but my father is probably wondering where I am and I am personally really freaking tired of just being _that human kid _that tags along with the wolf pack. None of you trust me! None of you even care to stop and actually listen to me. And yeah this is a little selfish, but damn it guys, I think I'm allowed to be selfish every once in a while for all the shit I do for you!" Scott turns around and looks at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Stiles, should you be up?"

Stiles kind of stares at him, lets out this noise that's just disbelief. He shakes his head and pushes between them and off the old subway car. He's walking away before either of them get out of the car.

"Stiles!"

He really doesn't care which of them is calling for him. He just shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking. He'd be surprised if they followed him. He isn't surprised when they don't.


	2. Leaving

He crashes on his bed and closes his eyes. He's only been gone a day, though it's felt like a week. His dad didn't ask any questions when he came in the door. He was clean and his sleeves were down and he didn't look too sick that he wasn't able to pass it off as tired.

Stiles stares at his ceiling and just can't believe what's going on. So he thinks about other things. Anything else.

And his eyes slip closed again and he flashes to the cemetery. It's mid spring and he's sitting under the tree where his mom is buried. It's last year. He's there alone. His bike is strewn in the grass next to her headstone and he's draped over it sobbing. Stiles hates this day. Fucking mother's day. He sits back on his heels and wipes his eyes. He knows his mom would hate that he was so upset. So he squares his shoulders and raises his head. It's that day he said he'd stop all that emotional bullshit. For his mom's sake. For her.

When he opens his eyes there are tears on his face and he lets them sit there. He doesn't know why his thoughts went right to that day. They don't always. He sits up and goes to his desk. Opens his laptop. Closes it. Opens it again, then closes it again. Grabs the papers on his desk and straightens the stack. Rearranges the folders. When he sets them down his hands are shaking. He closes his eyes and feels hands around his. They're smooth and slender and warm. He recognizes the hands like someone you've seen in passing and maybe greeted a few times. The hands move to his face and cup his cheek. He opens his eyes and the feeling is gone. _Mom_.

He feels this terrible hole in his chest and he doubles over. The hole is taken over by this insane squeezing and all of the breath is Stiles' chest leaves at once and he slides off his desk chair and to the floor, one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his chest. He sits on his knees with his body curled in on itself, his forehead on the floor. He trying to focus on breathing, but the only thing he can feel is the pain in his chest. He's trying to keep his heaving to a minimum so his father doesn't hear. For a second, he hopes that Scott will come in just in time and let him use his inhaler. Doesn't matter if he doesn't use the front door, he just wants someone there with him. But nobody knocks on his window. Nobody comes in his door. He's alone. He's so _fucking_ alone. The hole gets bigger and he stops trying to breathe. He wishes that it was possible to pass out during a panic attack. He'd rather be awake while Derek sews up his arm than have to experience this.

It passes after a few minutes and he relaxes his grip on himself. He lays with his forehead on the floor and keeps panting. He keeps his eyes closed. He goes to pound the floor with his fist in frustration, but stops. His father is downstairs. So instead he lays on the floor with his forehead pressed into the carpet and stays. Doesn't care that his legs are falling asleep. Doesn't care that he's falling asleep.

* * *

He wakes up in his bed the next morning and doesn't really care how he got there. He gets up and throws on clean clothes, brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face.

"Alright," he says to himself in the mirror, grinning. "New day." He rolls his shoulders a bit and cracks his neck. But that hurts and he winces a bit. He traipses down the steps rubbing his neck and turns the corner into the kitchen where he sees his father and Derek making completely casual conversation. He shouts in surprise and leaps back, eyes wide. "What're you even?" Derek grins. _What the shit is even that face?_

"Figured I'd take you to school today since your Jeep isn't starting," he says and actually sounds friendly. Stiles makes an ungodly noise to try and express his confusion and waves his arms like he's trying to ward off a monster attack. He turns and goes back up to his room. He can't do this right now. Like, really can't. He can't play sidekick to his werewolf best friend and all of his freaky werewolf buddies. No, not today. He can't do it today. Derek follows him this time. "Come on, you'll be late." He keeps the same voice, but his face is back to normal. Stiles shoves his hands at him, turns his back to him and slams his door shut.

"I'm really sorry, Derek," Mr. Stilinksi says from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't know what's gotten into him." Derek turns to him and grins.

"Don't worry about it Sheriff," he says as he pads easily down the stairs. "Everybody those kinds of days. It was nice talking." He slips out the front door and into his Camaro and down the street.

Stiles presses his back against the door to his room and closes his eyes. What the actual fuck was Derek doing in his house? He shouts as his window is thrown open and the alpha steps in. Derek is growling as he crosses the room and shoves Stiles against the door harder. His nostrils flare.

"What the hell was that Stiles? Are you trying to make him suspicious!" Stiles doesn't respond. He hears his dad coming up the steps and closes his eyes.

"Stiles, are you alright?" Mr. Stilinski says from the other side of his door.

"Yes, dad, I'm fine. Just feeling sick. I think I'm gonna stay home today, okay?"

"I… That's fine, son. I have to leave for work. You call if you need anything."

"Yeah, dad," he says, exasperated. He's vaguely aware of the fact that Derek is really pressed up against him and in his face. Stiles still has his eyes closed. He hears his father's footsteps retreat and shoves his hands into Derek's chest. "At least," he hisses, his voice in a low but intense whisper, "if my father knew what was going on, he'd be in the least bit concerned about me and actually listen to me, even if it meant putting me in a mental hospital because at this point, I'm really okay with that because I'd rather be treated like some nutjob with no life than have to keep putting up with you and your bullshit and Scott's bullshit and everybody else's fucking bullshit!" He's panting by the end of it and Derek is just kind of staring at him. Stiles purses his lips and nods. Looks over at where his chair is still tipped over because he didn't feel like getting up to fix it. "Get out of my house, Derek," he says before turning his eyes back on the alpha. Who still just keeps staring at him. Stiles huffs and flops his arms a bit. "I'm freaking serious! Get out! Shoo fly, bad dog, just go!"

Derek shoves him against the door again, hand firmly on his shoulders and Stiles is really freaking confused when he feels stubble against his face and lips pressed feverishly against his. Or maybe he only thinks feverishly because Derek is so damn warm. He's left cold when Derek's body is gone. He opens his eyes in just enough time to see the leather jacket slip out the window. Stiles flops his head back against the door and slides down it, eyes closed and mouth burning. What the _fuck_ was that?

* * *

Stiles sits on the floor of his room most of the day, staring at each thread on the carpet at least twice. His bottle of Adderall is sitting next to him. He's taken too many, but he knows he won't take more. His head kind of lolls and his looks at his arm where it's laying on the carpet beside him. It's not bleeding anymore. But it's red and gross and the stitches are kind of making Stiles want to vomit. His head feels like it's on fire. It itches behind his eyes, tingles down his spine. But he doesn't shift to fight the feeling, just lets his skin crawl. There's a knock on his window. He doesn't move. He hears a mutter of 'shit' and the person tries to lift the window. But it's locked. Not today. Then he hears the lock break. Still doesn't move though. The window flies open and in comes Scott. Of course, he sees the bottle first and realizes that Stiles is still awake second.

"Stiles, what the hell!" He shouts, kneeling in front of him. Stiles looks at him.

"You know there are over three thousand pieces of fiber where your foot is right now?"

"Stiles, I don't care about carpet fibers! Are you okay?" Stiles just looks at him. "Shit, come on man. We've gotta go. Allison found some info on what this thing could be."

"Do you think I'm a good friend, Scott?"

"We don't have time for this."

"Do you think I'm a good friend?"

"Stiles… You are my best friend. You are _the_ best friend." Scott frowns and furrows his eyebrows. "Now what the hell is wrong with you?"

Stiles picks up the bottle sitting next to him and holds it. He smiles a bit, but it's completely bitter. "Too much." Scott thinks he's talking about the medication.

"Get moving, then. It'll wear off." Scott stands. The boy never fucking listens.

He slips the last pill into his mouth as they walk down the stairs.

* * *

They're sitting in a circle outside of the subway car, hardly ten minutes later. Scott, Allison, Stiles, Derek, Erica, Isaac, Boyd. The entire time, Stiles feels like he should be singing that cute Sesame Street or muppets song whatever about how "one of these things is not like the other". He's trying to keep his eyes open, but his they keep refocusing on different spots in the concrete floor and hurting his head. He sweating bullets, but nobody notices because Allison is saying something about how in the bestiary there's an entry about this dog-like creature that can paralyze people by making eye contact.

"So like Medusa?" Stiles starts to say, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he doesn't get to finish because suddenly his body is kind of contorting and he's shaking like violent hell. There's a bit of chaos and through it all, even though he's seizing and on the verge of pissing his pants, Stiles really feels like shit for taking up so much attention.

The next thing he can remember is lying in a hospital bed and opening his eyes and having the entire pack asleep in his room. His dad comes in the room and sees them too, but only briefly. He jets to Stiles' side and leans over and hugs him.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles," his dad croaks and Stiles really want to shout at him. But he just accepts the hug and deflates against his father. His dad's here. And damn it, his _family _is here. And for the moment that's all he really needs to think about. His dad pulls away and sits in a chair next to the bed. "You could have died." The phrase stings Stiles to the core and he feels a sharp stab go through the room. He knows everything his dad is trying to say from that one sentence. He can tell his father is feeling awkward by having all these other bodies in the room, but as far as he knows, they're all asleep except Scott, who is allowed to hear anything that Stiles needs to hear. "They were going to keep you on suicide watch, but I convinced them it was an accident…" His father looks up at him with his eyebrows furrowed. "It was an accident, right Stiles?"

"Jesus, dad, yes!" It's the first thing Stiles has said and there's so much conviction behind it that nobody questions it. Except the ones that can hear the tiniest skip in his heartbeat. He doesn't think anybody's listening, though.

"But they are going to keep you here until it's out of your system… I want to stay, son, but—"

"Go, Dad," Stiles says, smiling at his father. "I'll be here when you get off." He's taking this all surprisingly well, so his father nods and stands and goes. As soon as the door is shut, the entire rabble "wakes up" and crowds his bed to continue discussing the monster. As if this had never happened. As if Stiles hadn't had a seizure in the middle of their meeting. But Erica's hand finds his and strokes it soothingly, not seductively, and Scott is sitting in the chair beside Stiles' head and Derek… Derek is sitting at the foot of the bed, turned so he can watch both Stiles and the door. The look on his face is protective, but angry. Not at Stiles. Maybe at Stiles. But they all carry on, and Stiles is kind of grateful. He's noticed, but not in the spotlight, not interrupting anything. He closes his eyes and listens as they make a plan, decide to head out, and ultimately leave. Scott's the last to leave.

"I'm serious, Stiles, if you ever pull something like that again, I…" He falters, but doesn't have to finish.

"I get it, Jesus. Go save the world," he flaps his hands and waves him off. And finally he's in the room alone. It's easy to sit there and wallow. But Stiles takes a deep breath. They couldn't finish this conversation without him. They couldn't do it while he was getting treated and they took over the waiting room. And they didn't wait for him just because they'd have a closed door. No, they waited because they needed him. Stiles sits up. _They need him._ "Fuck," he hisses. But he's stuck in here. So he just growls out his rage and flops back into the bed and figures maybe a nap wouldn't be a terrible thing.


	3. Growing

He goes to school the day after next. Thankfully, nobody's caught wind of what happened and he's able to traverse the halls without being stared at. He supposes that having his dad as the Sheriff has its benefits. He runs into Allison first.

"Hey Stiles, how are you feeling?" Danny's within earshot and Stiles is really too proud to accept that what happened even happened, let alone let somebody else hear about it. He lets out a nervous nonchalant half-laugh and leans against the locker.

"Feeling great, how else would I feel because I am really totally fine," he huffs out, shrugging and smiling. Allison just raises an arched brow at him.

"Right, so could you tell Scott…" She rattles off something that he's not paying attention to and he commits it to memory. So he goes off in search of his best friend. He finds Scott at his locker, as usual.

"Did you see Allis—"

"She said to tell you that the laser guide on her bow should be enough to distract the damn medusa thing and that if we really need it, she has a bolt action rifle with aaaa What the freaking hell is this plan again?" Stiles interrupts himself like this is the first time he's hearing this news, even though he's the one speaking. Scott just shakes his head.

"Attract it, trap it, figure out how the hell to stop it."

Stiles looks at him, his eyes dull, and deadpans, "Do any of you even _think_ while you're formulating these plans?" Scott shrugs. "Okay, okay, fine. So where are we meeting? Your house, the den, Derek's old house?"

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Where we always meet. Did you just call it the den?"

Stiles looks at him. "Well, I mean you guys are kind of wolves. You've gotta have a den. And that's usually where the alpha is, so." He huffs a laugh and shrugs a bit. "Yeah, I guess it's a den."

"Alright, I guess. I just don't think Derek would appreciate that."

"Oh, he'd appreciate it just fine." At the mention of Derek, Stiles' lips tingle. He resists the urge to touch them. "Let's get to class."

* * *

They're all in the den again, this time in their own separate groups, talking low in some cases and loudly in others, but Stiles is sitting alone on the steps of the subway car watching them. He barely lets out a gasp and a hand slips over his mouth and he's pulled backwards with ease. He realizes it's Derek once the other man sets him down and sits across from him. His face is intense and he doesn't talk. Stiles rubs his nose and pushes Derek's chest and glowers.

"What the hell was that the other day?"

"Keep your voice down," Derek bites.

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. "They're going to hear, no matter if I whisper in your ear, so I will be as loud as I want, Derek. Why the hell did you kiss me?"

"You know why, Stiles."

That shuts him up. He does know why. He really knows why. It's all those stupid dreams and he guesses it was also those times when Stiles jerked off and only cleaned up with a washcloth instead of showering. He kind of imagined that that kind of scent would drive the right wolf completely crazy. (And he guesses that Derek is the right wolf.) He isn't really sure when he got so fantasy-involved with Derek. It just kind of happened, and he isn't complaining but it _is_ kind of inconvenient. But he did kind of realize a while ago that there was something about fear that really got him off— at least the fear that Derek managed to strike in him every single time he looked Stiles' way. But it was also the weird way that whenever Stiles managed to get himself hurt, Derek would hardly let anyone near him. All this time, Derek's never said a thing to him and then just randomly kisses him after sneaking into his room and he'd been so frenzied about it that Stiles hadn't had _time_ to think to react the way he wanted to. But in all honesty, he really doesn't want to remember that day.

Suddenly Derek's voice is right in his ear. "Do you have any idea how distracting it is when you come in smelling like sex and the only thing you thought about to get yourself off was me?"

"You can smell that?" He plays dumb. Stiles' voice is high and hoarse and embarrassed.

"Yes," he hisses and that turns into a growl that hits at the base of Stiles' spine.

"Oh Jesus. D-do you really think we should be talking about this right now?" He offers, trying to get away from the subject as fast as possible. That manages to convince him thank god.

Derek pulls back from him and is gone from the car in seconds. Stiles exhales and flops back into the seat.

* * *

He's not sure what's happening when he comes face to face with the thing, only knows not to look in its fucking eyes, because he's been there before and that's a train he really doesn't want to ride again. It rears up above him and growls. And he's really not sure what comes over him when he takes the closest thing to a weapon he has and jams it in between the thing's ribs. It screeches and falls back and kicks Stiles in the process. Then it's running and Stiles is on the ground and half rolling in agony because he's pretty sure his back just snapped in half. Scott runs past him after the thing, but Derek slows and looks at him. Stiles half can't even stand to see him wolfed out. Another half thinks it's really fucking hot. "It has a fucking pen jammed in its ribs. It's not gonna last long," is his way of barking at Derek that he's fine and to just go.

He sits up and lets out a sharp gasp. He sees Derek turn his head briefly before sprinting away. It's Allison who comes up next to him and helps him.

"You're an idiot," she says lovingly and she prods his back. "It's just bruised. You'll be fine." They both hear howling in the distance and look at each other. There's a growl and some hissing and finally it's quiet. "Let's go." She helps Stiles up and they run. They reach Scott and Derek in time to see the creature fade back to what looks like some homeless guy. He's dead. Stiles runs a hand over his hair and turns his back to the body, taking his time to inhale and exhale and try out that whole breathing thing. He turns back around and looks at Scott.

"There are aspects of this friendship that I will never be able to get used to."

Scott grins and claps Stiles on the shoulder. They dig a hole, make sure he's dead, bury him, and leave. Stiles and Scott and Allison are able to make conversation through it, which is what really turns Stiles' stomach, but what really makes him nervous is the fact that Derek is completely quiet and he keeps looking at Stiles when he thinks nobody sees it. When they're done and walking back, Scott and Allison go ahead of them and Stiles and Derek fall behind. When the other two are well out of range, Derek shoves Stiles up against a tree and glares at him.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," Stiles titters nervously, giving Derek a sort of half smile and looking anywhere but at him.

"What the hell do you think you were doing, Stiles? Did you think you wouldn't get hurt?"

"You're hurting me more right now than it did," he replies coolly. Derek loosens his grip, but otherwise doesn't move. "Dude, what is your problem!" Derek still keeps staring at him. "Derek! Just freaking talk to me! I'm really not into putting up with your shady bullshit right now!"

"Did you think you wouldn't get hurt?" Derek hisses, his grip on Stiles' shoulders tightening again.

"Why do you care?" He returns, incredulous and honestly losing his breath a little.

"You are part of my pack, Stiles. I'm responsible for you." Okay, so Stiles really wasn't expecting that one. He pauses, considers it, and nods.

"Fair enough. And while I've got you in a ridiculously open moment, I really need you to _tell me_ why you kissed me right fucking then." To be honest, Stiles really hates saying fuck, not that anybody would know for how much he's dropped it over the past few weeks.

"Are you complaining?" Derek replies. Stiles flops his hands at his sides and huffs.

"Yes, I'm complaining! Maybe I wouldn't if I was expecting it or if I freaking wanted you to." He sees the look on Derek's face and tries to rephrase. "Jesus, I meant at that moment. Yes, I want to kiss you, like I want to kiss you a lot, but that was really freaking terrible timing on your part. I mean you climbing in my window after seeing you in my kitchen talking to my dad like some fake bastard kinda made me flip my lid in case you hadn't n–" He's pushed hard against the tree again and Derek's lips are on his and this time, you know, it's kind of okay. Stiles' hands find Derek's wrists and he just kind of rests them there. He feels Derek's pulse under his finger tips and his heart speeds up. This is too much at once, but Jesus, he's really loving it. He never thought he'd like kissing somebody with so much stubble, but this is… this is kinda nice. Hell, he'd never really thought he'd like somebody that could grow a freaking beard. Especially not one that's so fitting and well-shaped and like the perfect freaking length. And now Derek is pulling away and Stiles finds himself pulling him back and fisting his leather jacket and crashing their lips together. Derek really isn't expecting that, but he goes with it. And so they're pressed against the tree and kissing the hell out of each other in the middle of the woods, but Stiles really isn't complaining. He remembers all those times he caught himself staring at the alpha when he thought Derek wasn't looking. Apparently he wasn't all that convincing and/or sneaky. But he's starting to think he's kind of okay with that.

Derek pulls away from him and Stiles is panting a little bit. He grins and lets go of Derek's jacket and pats his chest, letting out a sort of half laugh.

"Alright. Good talk," he says, but he's not really looking at Derek. The alpha pulls his face up and anything Stiles was about to say gets swallowed in Derek's eyes. Derek leans in close to him like he's going to kiss him, but instead brushes his lips over Stiles' cheek and to his ear and then down to his neck. Stiles practically hears Derek's teeth grow and then feels the fine points of his canines graze over his pulse point. He shudders hard as Derek presses his face against Stiles' neck and inhales. He doesn't know what the hell this is, but he's actually really liking it and he doesn't want to even try to talk right now. Even though he knows if he did try, nothing would come out. He feels Derek breathe out against his neck and his eyes close almost involuntarily. And then Derek's heat is gone from his neck and then from his body and Stiles opens his eyes and sees the man standing in front of him. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and looks over at Derek.

"What was that?" He says, but his voice is weak and a bit quiet. Derek says nothing and turns to walk to their cars. "Hey!" He shouts and follows after him. He realizes he's not going to get anything out of Derek, so he shuts up and shoves his hands into his pockets and huddles his jacket up around his ears.

Allison and Scott are leaning against Allison's car and talking low. Stiles wonders if Derek can hear what they're talking about. In that, he wonders if the whole wolf hearing thing is selective or just constant. Scott pushes off the car and walks to meet them half way.

"What took you guys?"

Stiles sputters out "I got lost" as Derek replies "Stiles tripped."

"Right!" Stiles affirms, gesturing to Derek in a jerky and wild motion. "I tripped and lost you guys. Yeah," he says, trying to play it off like nothing. Scott isn't even suspicious and for a moment Stiles is really glad that his best friend is a little stupid sometimes. Allison looks at Stiles critically, before putting her hand on Scott's shoulder and pulling him back. They say their goodbyes and Stiles doesn't look at Derek. And they all manage to part ways with Stiles keeping his eyes on the ground until he climbs into his Jeep. He looks out the windshield and watches Derek slip into his Camaro and inwardly shudders at the way he ducks his head and makes folding his obnoxiously tall frame look so damn sexy. And then he resists the urge to slap himself for thinking about Derek like that. But he's allowed, damn it.

The car shifts as Scott flops in his seat and buckles up. The cars all start and they're going their separate ways.

"So is that like end of story? It's all done and over with?"

"Looks like it." Scott's reply is short because he's tired. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the seat.

"That was crazy, though. Like Jesus, there's something that can really screw you up that bad just by looking at you? I mean it literally felt like what happened with the Kanima, only a lot less consciousness was involved. How did we not know that before though, like, none of the people it killed showed any signs of like not str—"

"Stiles?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you smell like Derek?"

"Uh. I mean he picked me up, so."

"No, like, you really smell like him."

Stiles blinks. Looks down at his shirt. Makes up some lame excuse about how Derek had once upon a time borrowed this shirt whatever. Scott believes him and they both shut up and Stiles keeps driving. He drops Scott off and goes home and thunders up the stairs to his bedroom and slams the door shut. His father isn't home, so he can do what he wants as far as he's concerned. He opens up his laptop and searches the google for any resources he can find on Werewolf – he shudders – mating.

He reads about this thing called marking and curses under his breath. So it's kind of like kissing or whatever, but there's a transfer involved and the person marked will smell like whoever marked them, but only to other wolves. So they know that the person already belongs to somebody else. So that explains why Scott smelled Derek, but when did that 'transfer' happen?

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, only mildly aware of the fact that he's said that word far too many damn times, but in reality there's no better word to describe his situation. So he pushes away from his desk and crawls on to his bed and sits and does some soul searching. Would this whole Derek thing be that bad? Hell no. Hell freaking no. Stiles had found himself stupidly drawn to the alpha since they first met him. He just had this freaking way of talking and standing and moving that made Stiles really want to cream his pants. But he thought he'd kept that to himself. Could werewolves really freaking smell sexual attraction? Because he is literally fucked if that's possible. Because that means that every single time Stiles had one of those dreams, Derek would know about it and smell it on him the next day. (Because face it they're with the alpha pretty much every single day.) But that also means that every other freaking werewolf could smell it too. Stiles groans and crashes back on his bed. "This is so fucking messed up."


	4. Bonding

The next day in Chemistry, Erica slides into the seat next to him and leans against his shoulder. She's been so different towards him since he… Since that night.

"I smelled Derek in the school. I thought he was here, but it's just you." She smirks at him and her eyes are all hooded. Stiles' stomach flips. "He marked you, didn't he?" Stiles splutters a bit and can't even really try to choke out an answer.

"Mr. Stilinski, if you are having a problem with coherency, I might suggest sitting next to someone that is not so remarkably treacherous," Mr. Harris pipes up and Stiles drags a hand over his face. Is this guy even for real? Stiles pushes Erica away just a bit and shifts his chair over. Tries to concentrate on the class, but he finds himself sniffing his sweatshirt and wondering what the hell Derek even smells like.

* * *

Pine and grease and it's-about-to-start-raining and mint, Stiles decides when his face is buried in Derek's hair and Derek's face is in Stiles' neck and he's doing these really great things with his tongue and his teeth and Stiles is pretty sure that he thought he'd never get to this point with like anybody, but he's really not complaining because Jesus does this feel amazing. He's got his hands fisted on the back of Derek's shirt, which is slowly riding up and Stiles can feel the heat rolling off of his skin.

"Derek," he breathes, biting down on his lip and writhing a bit under the alpha. "What the hell are you doing with your mouth because that feels freaking awesome and I'm pretty su—" Derek's lips crash against his and they're kissing ridiculously deep and fast and Stiles' chest caves a bit and he loses what little breath is left in his lungs. He hikes up the back of Derek's shirt and splays his fingers over the taut lean skin, his fingertips tingling to touch his bare skin. For a second, he starts to wonder how the hell he got here with Derek over him in the middle of the night with no lights on, pressed against each other and getting so rough it's amazing. But then Derek sucks his bottom lip and leaves it bruised and he forgets everything but this exact moment.

Stiles opens his eyes into little slits and looks up at Derek, who hovers just above his face. His eyes are glowing a dull, dull red, but Stiles can't manage to even try to get scared. Derek's hands are wandering over his body and start traveling downwards to the bottom hem of his shirt and Stiles wiggles a bit.

"W-wait," he stutters out, because he's shaking like hell and he doesn't really get why.

"What is it?" Derek buries his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck and glides his tongue over the skin, leaving a burning trail. Stiles forgets to breathe.

"Don't wanna go too far…"

"Don't worry."

Stiles nods, lets out this stupid little moan when Derek bites at the skin he's been licking. His chewed nubs of fingers dig into Derek's back as he tries to control himself. Derek's hand slides up his shirt and around to his side, his thumb stroking his hip slowly, but firmly. Stiles wiggles his hips under him, can't help it when another moan slips out and it kind of sounds like a half-whimper and his face flushes. He thanks god that his room is so dark, but he knows Derek can probably hear the blood rushing into his cheeks. Confirmed when Derek lets out this low chuckle that makes the blood drain out of his face and go directly downward. Stiles gasps a little when Derek's leg finds its way between his. There's a firm but gentle pressure against his crotch and he can't help but angle his hips down to get more. Stiles moans a bit, totally forgetting that he's supposed to be quiet and rocks his hips against Derek's leg. He moves his hands and grabs the front of Derek's shirt and pulls him up and kisses him like his life depends on it.

And it really kind of does, if you think about it. But Stiles doesn't think about it, just tangles his tongue with Derek's and revels in the slide of wet velvet against his lips. It's almost too much to focus on: he's getting lost between the kissing and the tongues and the leg pressing against his dick, not to mention being quiet, which Derek's mouth is helping him with to some degree.

Derek's hands push Stiles' hips into the bed and he pulls away his leg. Stiles whines, but can't even be embarrassed or ashamed. Derek should be ashamed, yeah, for not continuing with that freaking amazing leg of his. He's about to speak up when he feels a hand work into the thin cotton of his boxers. For once it's not his own and as Derek's hand wraps around his cock, that alone almost makes him come. His breath catches in his throat and he hisses a bit. His face is about a centimeter away from Derek's and their lips brush just barely when Stiles arches.

"Fuck, Derek, fucking yes. . feels so good," he starts babbling, but Derek presses his lips to Stiles' and the human shuts up long enough to kiss back. Derek strokes him slowly at first, so damn slowly, and Stiles rolls his hips to meet his hand. His head falls back when Derek runs his thumb over his slit, his breath whooshing out of his lungs. "Gimme more Derek, fuck, Jesus, please more." His voice is low and a near whisper, but he really needs this and if Derek doesn't do something he's pretty sure he's going to start screaming at him. Instead of doing what he says, Derek pull away completely and leaves Stiles sprawled and panting and cold. He shudders and wants to whine, but as soon as he feels the need to, Derek is back and straddling his hips and instead of his hand around Stiles' cock, there's another one joining it. He doesn't have to look to note the size and he shudders. "Is that yours fuck it's big then again I'm not really sure what I expected since yo— Oh fuck," Stiles is rattling off when Derek's hand grips both of their erections together and strokes. Stiles moans and arches his back and rolls his hips. "Jesus christ Derek yes fucking faster please Derek fuck," the words tumble off his lips and he gasps and moans a little after each one. He's surprised that Derek doesn't tell him to shut up. At least he's quiet, so it's not like his dad would even hear him, and he guesses that Derek kind of expected this from him because it's not like he's ever— "Oh shit, fuck, shit, Jesus fucking christ I'm so fucking close don't stop please don't stop it feels so good, Derek," again he's talking without really registering what he's saying.

Derek's lips silence him when he reaches the edge; it's like Derek knows how loud Stiles gets when he comes. Their tongues tangle together while Stiles' dick shoots rivulets of come across his stomach and Derek's hand and cock and then Derek is coming and grunting into the kiss and that fucking sound is almost enough to get Stiles hard again because he's a teenager damn it and he really can't help these hormones. Put Derek pulls away and presses their foreheads together and just closes his eyes and pants. Stiles doesn't move, even though he's feeling the need to fidget.

"_Stiles_," Derek breathes and the named shudders.

"Yeah?" He looks up at Derek and his heart speeds up when he sees that Derek is staring right at him. He doesn't say anything else though and they both close their eyes. Stiles hisses a bit as Derek tucks him back into his pants and moves away. He feels something cleaning him up, but sleep is tugging at the corners of his mind and fogging up his brain. "Derek," he slurs, reaching out a hand. A strong warm hand grabs his and squeezes it gently. "Don't leave yet." He doesn't know what makes him say it. Derek kisses his hand and the bed shifts as he sits down. He still doesn't say anything as he pulls Stiles' head into his lap and strokes through his buzzed hair gently.

* * *

He's not surprised that Derek is gone when he wakes up. He throws on clothes and brushes his teeth and goes downstairs. Derek's in the kitchen again. Stiles can hear him before his feet even hit the dining room floor. He sighs, but decides that acting weird is the last thing his dad's going to need right now.

He turns the corner into the kitchen and waves a brief hello before grabbing an apple and opening the fridge to get some orange juice.

"So are you taking me to school in your fancy black car, Derek?" Stiles says nonchalantly as he hoists himself up on the counter.

"Don't see why not," Derek replies, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand. Mr Stilinski leans against the counter opposite Derek with his own coffee.

"I'm glad to see that you're all getting off on a better foot," Stiles' dad says, finishing the black liquid in his cup and setting it in the sink. "Now, I've got to go off to work. Your pill is sitting on the bathroom counter," he says to Stiles, who looks at his lap and chews absently. Mr Stilinski sighs and he's off. When the front door clicks shut, Derek's leaning next to him. Stiles doesn't say anything.

"So you said it was an accident." Stiles nods. "Was it?"

Stiles takes another bite out of his apple and stares at it.

"Stiles. Was it an accident?"

He kind of wants to say no. Just so somebody might start caring about him that's not his dad. But he knows that's selfish. Knows it's stupid. Because he really didn't do it on purpose. Sort of. He hadn't planned on overdosing. He hadn't planned for the seizure. It just kind of… happened. So he nods his head, then shakes it, then nods again. Derek sighs through his nose, but drops it. He shifts his weight so his shoulder brushes against Stiles' arm and Stiles leans into him.

"Sort of," he finally says after a few more bites of his apple. He feels Derek bristle next to him. Knows he wants to say something. But also knows that Derek's done with the subject. And when Derek's done, everybody's done. At least that's what Stiles thinks, but Derek has a history of doing the exact freaking opposite of what Stiles thinks is going to happen.

"Why?"

Stiles chokes a bit, waves his arms and slides off the counter. "I need to go brush my teeth," he lies and slides out of the kitchen. Derek knows he lies. He knows Derek knows he's lying.

But he goes off to brush his teeth anyway because he feels a little guilty.

And Derek's question makes him think, mostly. He's scrubbing his gums raw, but he's thinking too much to care. Why did he do it? It was an accident, though, so it's not like he had an intention. Sort of. He'd needed to focus, that was it. So he took one. And his head was still buzzing, so he took another. And he couldn't stop thinking about mom or Scott or the creature or _Derek_. So he took two more that time because he was starting to feel that stupid feeling where his entire stomach knots up and the only thing he can think about is jumping out a window. That feeling that he's never told his dad about. That feeling that he's never told anyone about. And then another right before Scott showed up because his skin was vibrating. And then one more as they left because he wanted to.

Stiles rinses out his mouth and the water's tinted pink. But at least it's pink and not grey. He thinks he'd shit his pants if he ever saw something black come out of a cut in his body again. Then his mind kind of pings and he leaves out of the bathroom with his Adderall still sitting on the counter. He traipses down the steps and back to the kitchen, but Derek's gone.

"Derek?" He calls, looking around and noting that there's only one coffee mug in the sink, so Derek hasn't left. Stiles lets out a breath and goes back towards the living room. He jumps and shouts a bit when he sees Derek's overwhelmingly black form standing in front of the shelves. Softer, "Derek?" But Stiles knows what's on the shelf that Derek's looking at. The only picture of his mom that's on display in their house. Actually he's pretty sure that it's the only picture of his mom that's in his house. He buried all of his with her because they were all pictures of them together. Wanted her to make sure that she didn't forget him up there. Stiles swallows and stops in the doorway.

Derek turns away from the shelves and finishes his coffee and walks back to the kitchen, past Stiles, says nothing about it. Stiles closes his eyes and exhales. Thank_god_. But he doesn't move. Can't, really. He's doing that thinking thing again.

"Stiles?" Derek says from behind him and Stiles whips around. "You were calling me." Stiles nods and smiles just slightly. Then remembers what he was going to ask.

"Oh! So I was doing some reading about some stuff, I mean the stuff I was researching really wasn't important but since when do I anything that doesn't have something to do with you guys, so I mean in reality you kind of know what I was researching about, but—Right." He sees the way Derek is looking at him with his mouth kind of slack and his eyebrow sort of raised and his head cocked a little bit. "Did you mark me? Or, or something like that because I mean both Sc—"

Derek holds up his hand. "Scent marked you."

Stiles releases his breath. "So. . that means there's another type?" Derek is kind of looking like he doesn't want to answer that question. "If you don't tell me, I'll just find it on my own and probably punch you for not telling me." He laughs a bit, always nervous when Derek gives him that look. "Or, just like, be a little miffed or something because we both know that I could. . Never even begin to try and hurt you.. or even, like, touch you I guess," his voice fades and he takes a step back.

"Physical."

Stiles' eyes kind of bug out. "Phsyica—Like _what_?" Derek looks at him. "Like. . Like you're talking.. _that kind of physical_?" He chokes.

"Only if you ever wanted it."

Great. That makes him feel perfectly wonderful. Though if he stopped to think about it, that probably wouldn't be so bad. Except for the fact that he's never.. _done it_. Let alone with a dude. Let alone in his ass.

"But didn't what we already did kind of count toward that?" Stiles really can't believe he's asking this.

Derek shakes his head.

"But you," he takes a breath. "You like came on me dude. That doesn't—OHMYGOD," Stiles interrupts himself and shouts. He hadn't even been thinking about that part. Derek sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at an imaginary clock on the wall. Or maybe there is a clock on the wall above Stiles' head, but he's not really concerned about that right now. He watches the way Derek swallows and his chest rises and falls a bit. Stiles starts to think that he wouldn't really be that adverse to the whole physical marking thing. He would actually really freaking love it. He clears his throat a bit. Derek's eyes twitch down to look at him. "I think that'd be a pretty cool thing to do, you know, if it ever came down to it." And now Stiles is looking anywhere but at Derek because he's not too interested in seeing Derek's reaction. "We should get going." He doesn't bother giving Derek a chance to respond.

He goes back upstairs, grabs his backpack and comes back down before Derek's even moved. He stops right in front of the door.

"You coming or do I have to drive myself and leave you alone in my house. Alone."

Derek blinks, looks like he's about to comment on Stiles' repetition, but just shakes his head slightly and brushes past Stiles and opens the door. Stiles' breath catches in his throat and he nudges Derek out the door and shuts it behind them. "If I'm late, I have to explain to Scott that I got a ride with you and then I have to explain how I got a ride with you and then why you gave me a ride and knowing me a lot of stuff that nobody else really needs to know will probably come out and I'd rather not have that ha—" Derek cuts Stiles off with a quick kiss, effectively silencing him, even after he pulls away and walks down the front path to his car. Stiles watches him from behind as he slides on his sunglasses.

"I thought you were going to be late?" He calls from beside the car. Stiles jerks a bit and half runs to the car and slides in the passenger seat. Derek has no right to look so sexy in those stupid glasses. But he really, really does and Stiles fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt the entire ride over, if only to keep from leaning over and doing something stupid.

When he gets out of the car and starts heading to the school, Derek rolls down his window and beckons him back. Stiles sidesteps back to the car, but stays a safe distance away. "Scott was saying something about wanting to come learn some things with the other betas. You want to see if you can pick up anything?" Stiles is silently touched by the offer, but outwardly he shrugs.

"Dad wants me coming straight home for a bit. Just until I get my head back in order," he offers up a sort of half smile and doesn't meet Derek's eyes.

"The offer's open if you ever change your mind," is all Derek continues with. Stiles nods, meets his eyes for like half a second and Derek nods as well. It's a stupid moment they have and Stiles feels his chest kind of constrict. It's like even though Derek is wearing those stupid sexy glasses, Stiles can tell he's really looking right at him, right _into_ him. He feels noticed, acknowledged, _important_. He cracks a grin, which Derek returns with a small twitch of his lips and then the black Camaro is gone.

* * *

Stiles doesn't change his mind. Because he's on the rocks with his dad already and he wants to keep this whole my-best-friend-is-a-werewolf thing quiet. Like super quiet. So quiet not even Derek can hear it. So he slides into his chair and sets his bag down and opens his laptop. Does some in depth research on this whole marking thing. Finds a few stories. A few really graphic stories. A few stories out of those that he really hopes are the farthest thing from what's actually going to happen. And a few others that he really hopes are going to happen to an absolute T. Like this whole – he squints at the screen to make sure he's reading it right – _knotting_ thing. He thinks that sounds pretty damn good, even if it is a little _bestial_, but that could also be the fact that he's a horny teenage boy who's never had sex and pretty much anything is going to feel good if it's done right. And Stiles is pretty sure that Derek knows how to do it ri—

Then it kind of hits him. And it's stupid. It's actually stupid as hell — and Stiles feels his face flush a bit out of shame – but Derek's had other partners. He's going to have more partners in the future. Derek's probably had sex with like fifty thousand people. Stiles feels jealous. He feels so fucking jealous and he's feeling like _he_ needs to be marking the shit out of Derek so that nobody else is going to touch him.

Not that he thinks anybody around here is going to touch Derek.

But god what about the people that have touched him before? Stiles feels sick. Like, literally sick. He stands up and slams his laptop shut, not really caring if he breaks the screen because he's _pissed_ and he can't even explain why. Derek's what, twenty? Nineteen? Either way. He's going to have had other people that he. . did things with. But somehow Stiles can't wrap his head around it and it's really making him feel sick. He pushes his chair away and it tips, knocks his knees out from under him and he falls back and lands over top of it, his spine banging off of the hard surface. He groans a bit, but the pain brings him back.

Derek's not a child. And just because Stiles is a virgin, it doesn't mean that the person he loses his virginity to has to be one as well.

He fidgets around and manages to stand up and right his chair.

"Jesus Christ, Stiles," he mutters to himself and rubs a hand over his head. He still feels sick. "Shower. Showers help with these things. Right?" He doesn't let himself reply, just pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor and goes to the bathroom. He peels off the rest of his clothes and gets in the shower. He makes sure the water is scalding. Scalding is enough to take his mind off it. Makes him forget that his stomach is churning. Stiles lets the water run over him and soon he's sitting in the bottom of the shower with his knees curled up to his chest.

Eventually the water turns cold and no matter how much he turns the knob down, he doesn't get any warmer. He's personally wasted all of the hot water in the house. And he thinks he hears the front door shut, but dad really shouldn't be home yet. He chalks it up to hearing things. He stands up and shuts off the water and wraps a towel around his waist. The first thing he sees when he gets out of the shower is the pill still sitting on the counter. He blinks a bit. That explains why the hell he couldn't concentrate to save his life today. Why every time he heard the clock tick, his fingers twitched, or how he highlighted an entire page of text in his damn chemistry book, or how he kind of forgot to eat the lunch that was sitting right in front of him because he was too busy watching peoples' hands, or how he stood up and sat down at least ten times in Econ before Finstock called him a hyperactive nutjob and threatened to have him sent to the principal's office or –

There's a knock on the door and Stiles jumps out of his skin. Doesn't notice when his hand swipes the pill into the garbage can.

"What?" He shouts it a bit and his voice cracks.

"I got off work early. Brought home dinner," his dad's voice says. Stiles exhales, really not knowing what exactly he expected – or who.

"Sounds great dad. I'll be down," he replies and waits for his dad's footsteps to disappear before he leaves the bathroom, skin shocked by how cold his house is. He has goosebumps, but at least he's not thinking. He pads to his room and drops the towel as he shuts the door. He's digging through his dresser and sliding on his boxers when the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He whips around and for freaking sure, Derek is leaning in his window, but at an awkward angle like he was trying to climb in but stopped half way. "What the fuck!" He shouts, jumping back and bit and running into his dresser. Then he lowers his voice. "Do _any of you_ even know what the hell a _front door_ is?" He half whispers. But Derek just has an unwavering stare at him. "What?" Derek keeps staring. "_What_?" Then it clicks and Stiles drags a hand over his face. "You have _got_ to be kidding me. I can't spend one afternoon without you or Sco—" Stiles is talking into his hand, but suddenly it's moved away from his face and he's pressed up really tight against the dresser. And there's this _presence_ over him and it's more than just Derek's physical body, it's this _feeling_. And Derek's face is in his neck and Stiles feels him shaking a little bit. One of his wrists is caught in Derek's hand, which holds it firmly, but not tightly. His other hand is down at his side. Idly he realizes that the twisted, stitched up scar is throbbing, most likely from the hot wa—He feels Derek's tongue slide against his skin and he shudders and melts against him. "Derek. . I have to. . My dad's. ." Each attempt to talk is thwarted by Derek's damn mouth moving against his neck. "_Derek_."

"Shut up." His voice is low and dark and almost a growl, and it shakes Stiles to the core in a way that is completely not fear.

But Stiles has never been one to do as he's told. "Derek, I've gotta get downstairs before my dad comes back up." He's soft, obviously doesn't want to leave, especially not now, and he hopes Derek gets that. Either way, the alpha pulls away from him and goes back to the window. Doesn't leave, just stands there with his back to Stiles. "I'm sorry," he says, worrying his lip between his teeth and frowning a bit. A low rumble strikes through the room and Stiles gasps. He tugs on a pair of pajama pants and grabs a shirt. He leaves before Derek can do that slamming-Stiles-up-against-a-wall thing. But he kind of wishes Derek would do it.

He walks down the stairs slowly, pulling the shirt on and letting himself look tired. He turns the corner into the dining room and is greeted with a nice buffet of Chinese food. Dad never gets Chinese food.

"Dad?" He calls, his voice wary.

"In here." Stiles turns around and looks into the living room. There's his dad, standing in front of _that shelf_. Stiles bristles. He never. . Stiles walks over to him and stands beside him. Doesn't have to look to see the glass of whiskey in his hand. He feels his dad's shoulders shake a bit. Stiles reaches over and takes the glass, thankful when his father doesn't resist.

"Let's go eat," he says carefully. Dad nods and Stiles exhales. He had planned to take his food back up to his room, but his dad's more important than his libido, and that kind of went out the window the moment he saw the Chinese. Stiles leaves his dad's side and goes to the kitchen, dumps the rest of the alcohol down the drain and takes the bottle off the counter. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He goes back to the dining room and his dad is sitting there, heaping piles of chicken and rice on to his plate. Stiles sits down.

"How are you feeling?" The question takes Stiles off guard.

"I, uh." He spoons a bunch of sauce covered chicken on to his plate. Is this a time for honesty? He looks up at his dad, sees that his eyes are dilated and his mouth is frowning. Practically destroys Stiles to see him like this. Not a time for honesty at all. "A lot better, actually." His heart is thudding in his chest, but he watches his dad smile a bit.

"I'm glad. You really had me worried, son."

Stiles can only nod and stuff his mouth to keep from talking.

Dinner keeps being an awkward affair, but Stiles stays with his father. Doesn't really matter how awkward it is or how much Stiles is squirming; his dad can't be alone right now. And Derek will wait. Stiles knows that Derek will wait for him.

After dinner, Stiles cleans up. Lets his dad sit at the table and stare at the wall while he puts away left overs. He thinks for a second to bring Derek some food, but he'll do that once his dad is in bed. He comes back to the dining room and pauses by the table.

"Let's go to bed," he suggests, but makes himself sound more tired than he really is. His dad looks to him and nods. Stiles exhales, jerks his head toward the stairs. "Come on." He watches as his dad stands and goes upstairs. He doesn't move to follow him, just waits for his footsteps to retreat and his door to shut. Stiles clenches and unchlenches his fists, tries out that breathing thing. When he thinks he has himself under control, he starts up the steps and goes to his room. He kind of forgets that Derek's even there for a split second, and almost shouts when he sees the alpha sitting at his desk and on his computer.

And he can really only stare because the pages he was reading when he freaked out are still up. Derek doesn't turn around to look at him, but Stiles sees a fist balled and resting on the desk beside his laptop. "Derek?" Stiles says, so soft that he really doesn't think he hears himself say it. He swallows, but doesn't continue. _Keep it together, Stiles, come on_.

"Let's not talk about this right now," Derek replies after what seems like forever of deafening silence.

"Derek—" Stiles staggers back a bit as Derek stands up and advances toward him. It takes him a second to realize that he's not angry. He's not even upset or trying to slam him against the wall or growl or anything. If there's any emotion on his face, it's… _Jesus Christ_. Concern. Fucking worry. Stiles backs up again, shakes his head so slightly. "I'm not talking about any of what happened downstairs, Derek. I'm not talking about it. I'm done talking about it."

"Stiles, you never talk about it." Derek stops in front of him, close enough that Stiles can hear him breathing.

"Yeah, that's kind of always been the plan. It's worked out great so far!"

"Has it?" Well that stings. He's never really thought about not thinking about it. Only knows that if he doesn't think about it, he doesn't have to deal with it.

Stubborn, he replies, "Yes, of course it has. Because everything I ever do works out the way I plan for it to happen and there are never any negative repercussions."

"Stiles, you can tell me these things. I get it, okay? I understand what you're going through."

"Can we just stop talking about this and make out? Can that happen like right now?"

Derek sighs. "Stiles—"

"Stop saying my name like that. Jesus, if you're going to say it at all, don't say it like that."

That earns him another sigh.

"So, I guess that's no to the making out?"

"God damn it Stiles, do you take anything seriously!" Derek's eyes flare red. Stiles swallows and looks at the floor.

He shakes his head slowly. There's this absolute feeling of dread crawling all over his body. It's snaking up his spine and curling around his head. His chest caves and there's no air in his lungs. _Now? Right now? Right fucking_ now _of all times?_ He doubles over, hands curled into his chest, gasping for air that he knows won't come. But instead of falling or stumbling, somebody guides him easily to the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the person. Right now he can't tell if it's Derek or mom, if it's a real person or a hallucination. But no, those arms are real, and they're wrapping around him and Stiles' ear is pressed against a strong chest. He hears Derek's heartbeat hammering in his head, more than his head. He feels it in his own heart, and the fluttering thrumming of his own starts to slow down and match the strong even beats of Derek's. His erratic gasping calms and he gulps in air like it's water. But even after he's calm and breathing, the arms stay. The warmth of the body next to him stays.

He finds himself clutching on to the front of Derek's shirt, his knuckles turning white. He starts to realize that Derek is murmuring something, but his voice is too low for Stiles to hear. He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the words.

"It's okay to feel like this, Stiles. You're allowed to not be over it. You're not weak just because you fall apart sometimes. All of this is okay. You're okay."

For a second, Stiles feels like he isn't meant to hear those words. Like they're meant for somebody else, but also like nobody is ever supposed to hear them. But he's calm and damn it, he's safe.

"Derek," he says. "Why are you like this for me?" Derek doesn't respond for a while, just holds Stiles and stays quiet. Stiles almost thinks he doesn't hear him.

"You're so strong." Stiles' chest caves again, but he's not feeling a panic attack come on. Instead, he's feeling warm wet trails of tears on his cheeks. He buries his face into Derek's chest. All those times he'd denied that he still hurt, that he still thought about his mom and cried. All those times he practically injured himself doing anything but thinking about it. All those times he _lied_ and said that research was a coping mechanism. Because really coping involved thinking about it.

He shakes his head. He's not strong at all. He's the weakest person he knows, even Jackson. Yeah, even Jackson who'd cave to any sort of thing that might make him a little more powerful. But Jackson's got reasons. Jackson's fucked in the head and Stiles doesn't mind thinking that because it's true. Why else would he turn into the Kanima instead of a werewolf? Stiles thinks he'd probably die if he ever got bit. He's not good enough for that life. Hell, he's not good enough for this one either.

"I'm not strong at all, Derek," he says, though his voice is muffled and watery. "Strength implies that I've done something…"

"Stiles, you have. And you are strong. You're brave and you're an idiot, but that doesn't change anything."

He wonders why Derek is so nice to him. But he also figures that he's saved Derek's life a few times, so he ought to be entitled to some niceness. But he's sure that's all it is. Derek would look awfully stupid if he was a jerk to Stiles.

"This pack would be fumbling without you."

Stiles isn't a werewolf and he doesn't have that keen hearing that lets him know when people are lying. But he's got this feeling – just this feeling – that Derek is telling the truth.

"You need me."

"We need you."

"And once I stop serving a purpose?"

"You're a part of this pack. I don't know how many times I need to tell you that."

"I'm human."

"That changes nothing."

"I could have been like you." He says it absently, before he realizes that he never told Derek or anybody really about Peter offering him the bite.

"Scott would never do it. I would never do it." Thank god he doesn't pick up on anything. Why would he?

"If I wanted it?"

"You know the risks and everything involved with this life." Stiles nods. "If you wanted it."

"I don't."

"I know," Derek replies softly and presses a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. "I know."

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, he's only barely aware of the fact that he's still wrapped up in Derek's arms. He honestly doesn't even remember falling asleep. Just remembers that they were talking and Stiles had felt like shit. But now. Now he feels pretty good. Which surprises him because when he looks over at the clock it's two in the morning.

Stiles sits up and peels himself out of Derek's grip and slides off the bed. He looks back and sees that Derek is still asleep. Dead asleep. He watches his chest rise and fall gently, smiles a bit when he hears his breath catch in a bit of a snore. He rubs a hand over his face and goes off to the bathroom.

This is okay. Hell, this is all going to be perfect. Derek knows how he feels, even feels it so fucking intensely that Stiles can't even think about handling it. How shitty it has to feel to feel so guilty about the deaths of your entire family… Stiles stops and takes a deep breath. It's not anybody's fault when things like that happen. It's obvious that Derek blames himself for all of this, or else he wouldn't be fighting so hard to right it. Stiles doesn't know _why_ he feels guilty for it. It's not his business though. It's not. He washes his face and pees and goes back to his room, scratching his chest and yawning.

He opens the door and his light is on and Derek is sitting up against the headboard with his eyes closed and his face generally pale for his usually dark complexion. He's kind of afraid to open his mouth.

"Come here." Derek's voice is thick, and Stiles thinks it would have gone straight to his dick, if there wasn't something else mixed in. So he goes over to the bed quietly and sits next to Derek. He's a little confused when Derek doesn't move.

"What is it?" Stiles is surprised by his own voice. Derek doesn't say anything else and Stiles thinks that's kind of the point. He exhales a bit and crawls over Derek and shuts off his light. "Let's sleep. You look like you need it." He flops back and pulls Derek down and hugs his arms around his shoulders with Derek's head on his chest. He's pleasantly surprised when Derek just kind of sinks into him and drapes an arm over Stiles' torso and hugs him loosely. He smiles to himself and wiggles a bit to get more comfortable.

"Stop moving," Derek growls, though it's so passive and not even the slightest bit hostile that it only makes Stiles' smile wider.

"Sorry," he replies easily and closes his eyes. No, this is kind of great. Derek makes him feel safe. Derek makes him feel like one of these days he's going to be able to accept that his mom is gone and his life is crazy and he's going to be _happy_. Happy would be a really good thing for them both, he thinks. He feels Derek's breath even out and smiles a bit. Happy would be so freaking great.


End file.
